


It Might Not Be A Leap, But I'll Take It

by PhilTrashNo164



Series: Soaring [3]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Bittersweet, M/M, Mental Illness, bipolar depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 02:24:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15402888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhilTrashNo164/pseuds/PhilTrashNo164
Summary: It’s stupid, really. But every step forward is still a step forward, right?





	It Might Not Be A Leap, But I'll Take It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dnovep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dnovep/gifts).



> written for my friend Nov’s birthday :)) hope you have a great one! This fic is a mix of my experiences with low mood/ depression and my general nature of putting everything off even if it’s good for me, and taking days to muster up the ability to do something really bloody basic. Yay.
> 
> I was also inspired by “spoon theory”, which I first read about on tumblr. From wikipedia: “The spoon theory is a disability metaphor and neologism used to explain the reduced amount of energy available for activities of daily living and productive tasks that may result from disability or chronic illness. "Spoons" are a visual representation used as a unit of measure in order to quantify how much energy a person has throughout a given day. Each activity requires a given number of spoons, which will only be replaced as the person "recharges" through rest. A person who runs out of spoons has no choice but to rest until their spoons are replenished.”
> 
> I’m not sure when this is set. A couple of months after the end of Up All Night maybe?

 

It requires going downstairs, to the kitchen.

 

And _that_ requires getting out of bed (possibly even showering, if he doesn’t want to scare Phil. He doesn’t want to scare Phil).

 

( _Showering_. How many steps does that require? Far too many)

 

But, still. He’s thought of it, he’s considered it, and that’s got to be progress.

 

He shifts a little in the darkness of his room.

 

(Yes, “his” room. When he’s unwell, it becomes his. It’s nothing personal)

 

He promises he’ll give himself half an hour to go do it. No excuses.

 

*

 

Half an hour turns to forty-five minutes turns to an hour and a half. Time spent just lying there, not even thinking, barely even breathing, or blinking, trying to sleep, failing.

 

What a waste.

 

_I could ask Phil to get them_ , he thinks. _I wouldn’t even have to get out of bed to do that_.

 

But he knows Phil. Phil, who would never just reply “of course” without also saying “how are you”/ “can I help”/ “do you want/ need this/ that”/ “I found a video you might enjoy, it’s two cats sneezing”.

 

Caring, yes.

 

Caring hurts sometimes.

 

*

 

Darkness. Not just in his room, but everywhere now. Nighttime.

 

The perfect time to go do it. No need to shower when Phil’s asleep.

 

He lifts the covers off and feels something akin to panic. It’s not a good feeling, but it’s a feeling, and he’ll take it.

 

He makes it to the door, already exhausted, bone-tired. It’s a two-minute job, going to the kitchen. What they don’t tell you is that every second feels like a day when you’re like this.

 

He flicks the light on on the landing, listens out for the sound of Phil still being awake in the spare room. Silence.

 

(The fans don’t get it. They think him and Phil always want to fall asleep next to each other, all in-love and happy. But when you’re depressed you need your own space. He’d get even worse if he didn’t have somewhere to hide away)

 

The kitchen is cleaner than usual. Maybe it’s cause Phil stress-cleans. Maybe it’s cause Phil’s only cooking for one.

 

The wipes are where they always are, in the cabinet below the sink. They’re meant for the kitchen (duh, that’s why they’re _in_ the kitchen) but it’s not like he’s gonna get arrested for using them elsewhere. And anyway, at least getting arrested would shake his life up a little.

 

(That’s a dumb thought. He’s been having a lot of those lately)

 

He doesn’t know why he doesn’t just buy an extra pack of wipes and keep them in his room, but then that’s the sort of thing a sensible person, one who has their life together, would do, and he’s definitely not one of those.

 

Lemon-scented. Usually he finds it a little strong, but at times like this that = clean.

 

He should really pour himself a glass of water whilst he’s in here. He doesn’t.

 

It’s a fight, once he’s back in his room-

 

(a journey that ages him about ten years)

 

-to not just go back to sleep again. But he didn’t go through all that for nothing.

 

He takes a wipe out of the packet, lifts his laptop off the bed covers.

 

Wipes.

 

It’s stupid, really. He’s not dirty. Yes, the laptop’s probably covered in a little too many doritos stains, a little too many sweaty fingerprints, but he’s not _dirty_.

 

And yet, it helps. Cleaning makes him feel cleaner - cleaner in the mind.

 

He gets another wipe out, grabs his phone. More bacteria than a toilet seat, and all that.

 

(He wishes he could just wipe away all the crap in his brain. If only it was that easy.

 

He’s done the meds and the therapy and the exercise and the healthy eating. And yet every time he finds himself in this - in this _grip_ \- it’s like he has no idea how to get away from it.)

 

Maybe tomorrow he’ll change pajamas.

 

Every step forward is still a step forward.

**Author's Note:**

> the original spoon theory piece (thanks americanphancakes): https://butyoudontlooksick.com/articles/written-by-christine/the-spoon-theory/


End file.
